


Night of the Mayfly

by Yourownoscar



Category: Falsettos - Lapine/Finn
Genre: Angst, Death, F/F, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, In which Marvin (And maybe Whizzer) are adrenaline junkies, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Substance Abuse, Suicidal Thoughts, Tragedy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-06
Updated: 2019-01-15
Packaged: 2019-10-05 10:10:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,017
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17323019
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Yourownoscar/pseuds/Yourownoscar
Summary: Looking back at it now, there were undoubtedly more than a few chances for escape. Marvin could have easily stormed back into the snowy New York streets, and far away from the strange little bar, and its unusual inhabitants. He could have taken a train back to his tiny apartment, where the water didn’t work, and the neighbors were too loud. Back to his small paying job selling fake medicine over the phones for $1.50 an hour. And  back to his soon to be fiance, who was currently sailing away to France in order to “discover herself”. He could have saved himself from ever crossing paths with the over-charismatic stranger, and the months of despair, bloodshed, and maybe even love that followed. But for whatever reason, Marvin found himself marching forwards, and onward, blindly into the hands of his inevitable death.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is a weird story that flows more like my thought process at 3 am then anything else. the narration reads homophobic in the first few chapters in order to match Marvin's way of thinking. But I promise it will get better.

Chapter 01  
Marvin swiftly opened the heavy wooden door, bracing himself for the overpowering smoke of cheap cigarettes, and the lingering smell of out-of-budget liquor. The dimly lit room hastily decorated with mismatched picture frames, and unidentifiable stains looked as if it was put together moments earlier in a series of bad decisions. Velvet carpet lined the way to a counter in the middle, as similar velvet booths stuck out from the walls. There was an out of order jukebox in the corner, and several broken chairs. Amidst the array of unusable appliances, the heater, however, appeared to be working stronger than ever. And so, like a moth making its way into the light, Marvin found himself inching farther away from the cold winter streets, and closer into the scorching fires at the awaiting gates of hell.

Giovanni’s Secret was a bar of sorts located in the Lower East Side of Manhattan. Drowned out by neighboring clubs, and neon lights, the broken down building acted as a beacon for wandering corpses, in need of one last drink before judgment day. Moving closer to the counter, Marvin looked around at the men filed into booths throughout the room. A young boy in his early 20’s downing a shot before lovingly clinging on to the arm of a man he called “Uncle”, another one wearing a woman’s blouse madly gesturing with his hands, recounting the stories of previous lovers. Their voices floated around the room, nasally, and high pitched, uniform, yet altogether not. Paired with rotten perfume, and painted faces, they could only be defined as a special type of man, unsatisfied with the boring rituals of daily life; work, home, and women. _Marvin didn’t belong here_.

Looking back at it now, there were undoubtedly more than a few chances for escape. Marvin could have easily stormed back into the snowy New York streets, and far away from the strange little bar, and its unusual inhabitants. He could have taken a train back to his tiny apartment, where the water didn’t work, and the neighbors were too loud. Back to his small paying job selling fake medicine over the phones for $1.50 an hour. And back to his soon to be fiance, who was currently sailing away to France in order to “Discover herself”. He could have never crossed paths with the over-charismatic stranger, and the months of despair, bloodshed, and maybe even love that followed. But for whatever reason, Marvin found himself marching forwards, and onward, blindly into the hands of his inevitable death.

A new voice suddenly broke into his consciousness.

“You’re new here aren’t you?”.

It was a regular voice of nothing in particular, and Marvin soon found it to be belonging to the face of a man, quite regular himself. At least, he wasn’t the demon that Marvin had pictured with red horns, and pointy teeth, eyeing him down like a final meal. Instead, it was a man with slicked back brown hair, life in his cheeks, and a soul in his eyes. He was the barman.

“I said you’re new here aren’t you?” The man repeated, “I’ve never seen you here before.”

“You can’t have seen everyone who’s ever walked in here.”

The barman laughed.

“Maybe not. But, I wouldn’t say you blend in, you look like you’re here to do my taxes.”

Marvin looked down at his clothes. It wasn’t exactly a nice suit, but it was the nicest one he owned. With the black coat, and sleek tie. He had spent one month’s worth of rent on it.

“I guess you got me”.

“What’ll it be newbie”, the man said, knocking the counter with his knuckles twice.

“Anything strong enough to knock a grown man out?”

The barman laughed again.

“Coming right up.”

He then moved away from the counter busying himself with glasses, and surrounding customers. Marvin stared blankly into the spot that once held the other man, and began to notice a sense of vulnerability that stayed behind him. Several eyes from throughout the room were now trained on his back, sending shivers throughout his body. For some reason, he began to recall a book he had once read as a child regarding strange occurrences in the jungle. The boa constrictor, it read, swallow their prey whole before taking 6 months to digest it. Marvin imagined what it would be like 6 months inside a boa constrictor, unable to move, breath, think. He imagined that the suffocating feeling inside the stomach of a snake, would not be so different from the suffocating feeling that approached him now in the middle of the lion’s den.

He was quickly awakened by the harsh sound of a fluorescent colored drink being slammed on the counter in front of him.

“What is that? It looks like children’s Benadryl.”

“Ha! You wish. That, pal, is something I like to call The Seventh Dwarf. According to legend, it’ll crystallize in your stomach until tomorrow morning before it liquidates a second wave of alcohol into your bloodstream”, the returning Barman grinned, flashing a quick sense of boyish charm.

“Is that even legal?”

The man simply shrugged and said, “Cheers”, before leaving the space between Marvin empty once again.

Without thinking, Marvin downed the drink in one painful go, quickly feeling a burning sensation spread from the back of his throat to the tip of his tongue. Just as suddenly a flame began to move within him, causing his eyes to water, and his face to grow red. He let out a few coughs that were met with snickers throughout the bar. Marvin truly didn’t belong here. The Barman returned for a third time, this time with a rag he used to wipe the counter.  
With the same kiddish smile that never quite left his face, he asked, “Are you ok? Or should I call the paramedics?”

“I’m fine”, Marvin coughed, with tears still in his eyes, “Thank you for the drink it feels like an allergy attack”.

Another laugh burst from the other man, that Marvin couldn’t help but mirror. It felt strange to laugh, and yet it occurred so easily. The Barman tapped the counter with his knuckles again twice, making it four times since Marvin had walked in.

“So what brings the businessman to Giovanni’s? You aren’t a nark are you?”

“No I- no I’m not with the police. I guess I just got lost”, Marvin chuckled.

The other man raised his eyebrows, “Pretty lost I’ll say.”

“Ok, maybe not lost,” he replied, lifting his hands in defense, “Maybe just a little curious.”

“Curious?”

“Curious to see what it’s like? I mean”, Marvin lowered his voice to a steady whisper, “It’s a little strange isn’t it? All these men, and no women...”

“What’s so strange about that?”

“I don’t mean to offend, but it’s not exactly normal.”

“Normal? What is normal?”, The man then laughed.

Marvin began to feel his face grow even redder, as if he had made some sort of mistake. Perhaps, he thought, this was the part where they throw their drinks at him, and kick him straight back to the streets. But the look on the other man was not malicious, nor offended. Instead, his eyes still sparkled with the same childlike wonder of a boy at a candy store. Marvin couldn’t help but feel them drawing him in closer, and closer, daring him to continue.

“Maybe normal is the wrong word. It’s- well it’s immoral”, he stammered.

“You’re a funny guy. What’s your name?”

“Marvin. My friends call me”, he paused, “Nothing, because I don’t have any friends.”

“I can see why”, The barman snickered taking a moment to think, “Alright Marvin, let me ask you something. Are you religious?”

“Not really- no.”

“Do you believe in God?”

‘Not exactly.”

“Then why!” he smiled, “Why do you find it so strange.”

“Why do I have to be religious to find it strange?”, Marvin questioned, seeing the smile of the other man, and feeling a faint sense of excitement rise within himself as well.

“Well, you think it’s immoral don’t you? But what are morals in the absence of faith? Religious people, they walk in a different step then you, me, and the rest of the bastards in here, don’t they? They submit to _their_ idea of morality because they’re scared of the punishment that awaits them in immortality. But, I know I’m not going to live forever, and I also know there’s no golden gates waiting for me at the end of my run. So, if Satan won’t be shoving his pitchfork up my ass for the rest of eternity, then what’s morality to me? It doesn’t exist.”

“You’re saying human morals don’t exist outside religion?”, Marvin stammered.

“I’m saying human morals don’t exist at all. It’s a lie that’s been forced onto us by those too scared to die.”

The barman gave Marvin a wink, before a quick silence filled the two, as he went to serve drinks to someone on the opposite side of the room. Upon returning, he slammed another drink before him, saying, “It’s on the house.”

Taking it again, in one go, Marvin found that the previously sickening flame inside of him had began to shift into something new altogether.

Exhilarated, a little drunk, and ultimately desperate not to let the conservation die, Marvin excitedly raised his voice into a yell, “What do you mean human morals don’t exist? Of course they do. You’re not going around killing people are you? Just because you try to ignore these feelings doesn’t mean they go away. You’ll still always know the basics of good and evil!”

The barman flashed a stupid grin in return.

“I can know the difference between, might I add, _your_ definition of good and evil, while simultaneously choosing to ignore it. What good is morality if it doesn’t even dictate action? How can something with no relevance on this earth truly exist?”

“But it does have relevance on this earth. Human morals are as real as the laws of physics! I mean they’re what stop us from running around like wild lunatics! It’s a basic set of rules to follow.”

“Now you're speaking like a true American. Alright, but who dictates these rules? I’m immoral to _your_ standards, but I might not be to someone else. Your definition of immorality are things _you_ define as bad. If you say, “Murder is wrong”, what you are really saying is “I do not like murder, because it makes me feel uncomfortable”. That’s an opinion, granted a widely accepted one, but opinions aren’t fact.”

“What is this? Some kind of hippie propaganda?”, Marvin laughed, “It’s just a matter of the choices you make. When it comes down to the end of it, everything-”,

Marvin paused. Turning his head around the room, he began to take notice of new faces staring icely over at the game the two appeared to be playing. He started to blush in front of his new found audience. Marvin felt foolish, as the fire inside of him started to slowly die down.

“Don’t stop”, the other man broke in smiling. He felt the power of the Barman’s eyes drawing him back in, away from the rest of the room, relighting the flame in a new, almost profound way.

“Don’t stop, we’ve almost reached the end now haven’t we?”

“Everything bubbles down to either good or evil.” Marvin continued, hearing his own voice falter to a whisper.

“Marvin. Look around you. Think about life. It’s ugly, it’s cold, and it’s cruel. But”, he said taking a moment to grin, “it’s also passionate, and warm, and sweet. The earth is a rock in the middle of space, spinning 1,000 miles an hour, holding over 7 billion people. People who all look, think, and act different from one another, dancing in their own little parades. This world is far too complex-and brilliant-to support something as fragile as “good” and “evil”. Human morals carry no room for contradiction, you said it so yourself. But can’t you see it’s the contradictions that make life worth living! Sometimes the greatest of things attack with a thousand knives, and the worst of things are the ones carrying the first aid kit. We have no idea the repercussions an action might have, we have no idea what’s going to happen next. But one thing I know for sure, is that when we try to understand the world too hard with silly abstract ideas such as human morality, we only push ourselves further away from what life is really supposed to be.”

“And what is life really supposed to be?”

_“Beautiful.”_

“So, you’re saying I can do anything I want? Good? Evil? Anything?”, Marvin whispered.

“Let me give you a tip. Nothing in this world is real. Good. Evil. Nothing. The only thing that is real here, is you.”

‘Do you always talk this way?”, Marvin smiled.

“No. Only in the best of times”, The other man smiled back, before turning his head to survey the rest of the bar.

“So”, he said, “You’re new, but I’ll take it you’ll come here often?”

“Why would I do that?”

The barman laughed once more, turning his head, this time to look Marvin straight in the eyes.

“Don’t you know when you’ve made a new friend.”

“I don’t even know your name.’

“Whizzer”, he said stretching his hand out, “Whizzer Brown”.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel like Marvin would be a gay republican


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Marvin at the Psychiatrist. A three-part mini opera.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> T/W Suicidal emotions (?)

Part 1  
  
Marvin had liked Trina once. In the very least, that’s what he told himself. They had met at a friend’s college party where the drinks were second grade, and the music was terrible. Yet, among the gaudy decorations, and the people who moved like ashes, Marvin had noticed her. And throughout the rest of the night, she had been the only thing he had bothered to notice. He liked the way she made the room grow around her. She could sit silently in a corner, and yet everyone would know she was completely in control. Things, and people, had a way of gravitating towards her, as if they were being guided by some uncontrollable fate. When they had met, Marvin quietly noted the way she would laugh at his stories. She laughed in the same way she had laughed at everything else, and he immediately knew that he was not special to her in any way. Still, there was something in this that drew him to her even closer. He had proposed to her a few times, before she finally announced she was traveling to France in order to think things through. Perhaps she was tired, he had thought, and it was because of this exhaustion she had decided to reconsider. They ended up married the next summer.

  
Fidelity has a strange of way of changing people. Something about seeing the same smile everyday starts to grow bothersome, and before he knew it, Marvin began to resent the things that brought him to Trina in the first place. Soon, control turned dictatorial, and her disinterest no longer attracted him, but pushed him farther away. And so, as it was, the love between the two started to die down, until there was almost nothing left at all. Nothing left, but the wretched longing for something lost along the way.

  
Marvin sat at a small round table in the center of the kitchen, staring down at his plate of eggs. He noted how they were burnt around the edges, and tasted more like salt than anything else. Trina sat on the other side of him, chatting idly about something she had seen on TV. But Marvin wasn’t listening. Wondering instead how a woman who cooks eggs for breakfast every morning still managed to burn them.  
  
“You’re doing it again.” Her voice suddenly broke out.

  
“Doing what again?” Marvin sighed, looking up from his meal.

  
“You’re leaving me.”

  
“I haven’t even moved.” He grumbled.

 

“You haven’t even moved, but you’ve left me.”

 

“I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about.”

 

“Yes you do,” She cut in authoritatively. “We’re sitting here talking, and then suddenly you get that glassy look in your eyes and you’re gone. You speak, but you’re not speaking to me. You look, but you’re not looking at me.”

  
“You’re crazy.” Marvin scoffed.

  
“I’m not crazy. I don’t know what you’re seeing, I just know that whatever it is, it’s far away.” Trina paused for a moment, taking the time to look deeper into his eyes. “Where do you go Marvin?”

  
“You think too much,” He stated coldly. “You’ve made a bad habit of it.”

 

“I guess sometimes I’m just afraid that I’m not reaching you anymore.” She sighed. “And then I wonder if I’ve ever really reached you at all.”

  
Marvin didn’t respond, looking back down at his food instead. Trina stood up helplessly, moving to take her own plate to the sink.

  
“Fine don’t say anything.” She called out. “Jason notices it too you know. Just the other day he—”

  
“Jason is ten years old he hardly notices if his shoes are untied.” Marvin briskly cut in.

  
“He’s smarter than you think,” She took another pause. “We both are.”

  
“What do you want from me Trina?”

  
“I was talking to Claire the other day.” She said looking at the wall directly in front of her. “She says Henry started seeing a psychoanalyst.”  

  
“Is that what this is.” Marvin growled dangerously, dropping his fork down onto his plate in a loud clatter.

  
“I think it could help you.”

  
“Help me?’

  
“Help you.” She pleaded. “I mean we hardly ever see you anymore. Jason—”

  
“Jason?” Marvin repeated incredulously.  “What does Jason have to do with any of this?”

  
“Nothing.”

  
“Did he say something to you—”

  
‘No!” She cried. “It’s just I don’t think it’s that big of a secret you’re not exactly there for him.”

  
“Not there for him!?” He exploded. “You know my father never even said three words to me!”

  
“So you say four words to your son and suddenly you’re in the clear?”

  
“I just don’t see the big deal! I mean all I’m asking for is a little alone time—”

  
“A little alone time?” Trina laughed mockingly. “You lock yourself up in that room all night doing God knows what—”

  
“I pay the bills. I can do what I want.”

  
“We both pay the bills. I work too you know.”

  
“Oh sure.” Marvin scoffed. “Like selling cosmetics door to door is a real job.”

  
“What and working on the phones is?” Trina repeated in a similar fashion.

  
Marvin jumped out of his seat, feeling a burst of energy rush through him.  
“I am the man of this household!”.

  
“You’re hardly a man at all.”

  
“So then why don’t you divorce me!” Marvin screamed, slamming his fist down on the table.

  
Trina didn’t respond, creating a breath of icy silence between the two. Marvin wasn’t positive, but he had thought he had seen her wipe away a tear. Slowly, and silently, he drifted back down into his seat. With the damage being done, it seemed as if there was nothing left to say.

Marvin knew he had liked Trina once. That has already been said. But whether or not there was a time in which he had definitively loved her, he could not recall. This thought, once it occurred, frightened Marvin to the core.

  
“Just go.” She pleaded again, softer than before. “We can spare the money. What do you have to lose?”

  
“It makes me feel crazy.” Marvin whispered weakly.

  
“You are crazy.” She said as a faint smile began to grow on her face.

  
“I am only a little crazy.”

  
Trina laughed, moving behind Marvin, wrapping her arms around his chest, and planting a kiss on his cheek. But Marvin was no longer thinking about his wife, and thought instead about the human body. In strangulation, it take two to three minutes of continuous pressure to ensure that blood flow is reduced sufficiently enough to cause death. He had read that once in a book. And now, in remembering it, Marvin wondered if two to three minutes of someone’s hands around his throat would feel anything similar to two to three minutes of Trina’s arms around his body.

  
“Go.” Trina continued. “If anything just go to prove me wrong.”

  
“Come on think about it!” She laughed in a sing-songy way. “‘Trina I was right, and you were wrong.’”

  
“It does sound nice.”

  
“See that’s the spirit,” She grinned kissing him one more time, before starting out of the room.

  
“I’ll take it you already made the appointment!” Marvin called after her.

  
“May 27th at 8:00!” She yelled back.  

  
Marvin looked back down at his food, noticing the face of his wrist watch in the corner of his eye. He would be 7 minutes late to work.  
“Shit.” He cursed, rushing to put his plate of half finished eggs in the sink, and running quickly out the door.

  
Part 2  
  
Marvin could not recall the moments leading up to the hour spent in the waiting room of the neighborhood shrink. He was sure that at one point he had driven there, but as time continued to stretch, he could not remember ever having a life outside the waiting room at all. Instead, it was as if the history of the universe existed solely in the small space that confined him. And as he continued to sit there Marvin began to feel as if he was in one of those window displays, with the plastic people, and faux interior. From the magazines on the coffee table, to the receptionist up front, it was as if everything had been meticulously designed to fall into exemplatory order. And, it was in this sublimity, that he began to grow afraid that the people looking into the glass windows would be able to notice the small imperfection that sat in the corner of the room. And so, holding his breath, and shutting his eyes, Marvin tried to make himself disappear.  
  
Only, before he could do that, a voice cut into his consciousness.  
  
“Excuse me sir, he’ll see you now.” The receptionist called out.  
  
And without giving him time to go back to his final act, he was being lead away again, throughout a narrow hallway, and considerable number of doors, before finally entering into another, larger room, where a man in a sweater vest and dark curly hair was waiting for him.  
  
Upon seeing Marvin the man quickly got up from his seat, as if awakened from a trance, making his way forward with an outstretched arm.  
  
“Hello Marvin, I understand you have a problem,” The man said, energetically shaking Marvin’s hand up and down, up and down. “My name is Mendel, Mendel Weisenbachfeld, yes, I know it’s a long last name. Here, take a seat, because before we begin there’s one question I have to ask you.”

  
“Yes?” Marvin asked, cautiously lowering himself down onto the offered chair.

  
“Do you like adventures?”

  
“I’m sorry wha—”

  
“Well I hope you do.” The man giddily cut him off, sitting down at the seat across from him.

 

“Because we, my friend, are about to adventure into that brilliant, little, mentally unstable mind of yours, with a good pal of mine I like to call Psychology!”

  
“Jesus.”

  
“Gesundheit. So!” Mendel said flashing another gummy smile, while taking out a pen and paper. “Help me-help you-help me-help you!”

  
“Well I’m sure you’ve already talked to my wife.”

  
“Oh no! Your wife talked to my assistant to make the appointment, and then my assistant talked to me about the appointment. That’s usually how these things work.”

  
“Um, actually,” Mendel started again clearing his throat. “I don’t have any information on you whatsoever. Hell, I don’t even know your last name.”

  
“That can’t be true.”

  
“You have a clean slate Mr. Marvin.” He offered genuinely. “Just relax, and tell me a little bit about yourself.”

  
“Where do I start?” Marvin sighed.

  
  
“Well, where were you born?”

  
  
“New York”

  
  
“Ever left?”

  
  
“No.”

  
  
“No?”

  
  
“No.”

  
  
“How’s your relationship with your parents? "

  
  
“Average I guess?” He shrugged.  “We were close when I was younger, and have avoided each other ever since I turned 14.”

  
“You know they say the moment a boy becomes a man is the moment he begins to see his father as a fellow man as well”

  
  
“They don’t say that.”

  
  
“No?”

  
  
“No.”

  
  
“No?”

  
  
“No!” He yelled.

  
  
Mendel laughed sheepishly, jotting something down on the paper, before clearing his throat.

  
  
“Moving on. What is your relationship with your wife?”

  
“Average.”

  
  
“Are you sure?”

  
“What does that mean?” He asked offendedly.

  
  
“Well she did send you to therapy.” Mendel chuckled.

  
  
For a split second Marvin’s mind turned back to the sight of Trina wiping away a tear at the breakfast table. One tear among many in which he had been the sole benefactor of. If he could collect them all, he assumed he would have enough water to build a river. But these memories, as disheartening as they were, seemed of no significance to him. So shifting is his chair, Marvin pushed them to the back of his mind, and decided to be irritated instead.  


“Look.” He snapped. “I’m not here to waste my time. Does any of this have a point?”  


“Maybe, maybe not.” Mendel shrugged, jotting down another note on his piece of paper.  “What do you do for a living Marvin?”  


“I work an office job.”  


“I’m sure you do.”  


“I’m getting tired of this.” Marvin said flatly.  
   

“Here.” Mendel cleared his throat. “In order to speed up the process just a little bit, why don’t you describe to me an average day in the life of Marvin. I’ll just sit here and listen.”  


“You won’t say anything?”  


“Not a word.”

  
“Well…” Marvin said shifting in his seat. “I wake up every morning at 5:30 sharp. My wife, Trina, makes me breakfast while I get ready for work, and I usually eat around 6:00. By 6:30, I’m out the door, and by 7:15 I’m at work. I work at a call center. People have problems, it’s my job to sort of fix things.”

  
“Fix things?” Mendel asked raising his eyebrows.

  
“Well like the other day some woman called me because her cat was stuck in a tree. I called the fire department to go to her apartment... Actually, that was at 2:33 last Thursday afternoon.” Marvin corrected himself. “Anyways, I clock into work and the calls start filing in at 7:35. I work on the phones until 12:00 which is my lunch break. I eat for exactly 32 minutes, which means I’m back on the phones by 12:32.”

  
“Twelve thirty-” Mendel muttered to himself, writing once again on his piece of paper. “I’m sorry what was that last number?”

 

“Two.” He replied flatly. “Every single day, at 1:56, my co-worker Paul comes towards my desk to ask me if I saw the game last night. Every day at 1:57, I tell him “no”. He then tries to make small chat for 7 minutes, finally leaving at 2:03. I’m back on the phones by 2:04.”

  
Marvin felt an irritating feeling start to build in his chest. The image of his plucky coworkers, hideous cubicle, and the blinding fluorescent lights that haunted the office floor all seemed to be coming back to him.

  
“For the past three months.” He went on. “I’ve been getting a call at exactly 4:48 by some teenagers asking if this is ‘Ray’s Pizza’.”

  
“The real one’s on 27th”, Mendel interrupted.

  
“Whatever!” Marvin snapped back. “I go back to the phones. My last call always starts at 5:18.”

  
The sound of a phone started to ring in the back of his head. He was talking much faster now.

  
“And I time it to always end at 5:26 sharp. This gives me 4 minutes to pack my things, and go pick up my son from school by 5:45.We get home at 6:02, I say, “Honey, I’m home!”, to my wife at 6:03! By then it’s time for dinner, and we eat for 47 minutes, ending at 6:50. If I’m lucky enough to escape a fight, I can manage to lock myself in the study at 7:17!”  


Marvin felt a flurry of anger, as his voice started to raise into a yell.  


“Which is where I sit for the rest of the god damned night dreading the moment where it all has to start again!”  


“And it always starts again Mendel,” He cried. Right at 5:30 AM!” Marvin covered his ears and pinched his eyes shut as the time came flying past him. “5:30,6:00,6:30,7:15,7:35,—“  


“Yes, I think I see your point!” Mendel quickly cut him off.  


Marvin opened his eyes and took his hands away from his ears. Nothing in the room had changed.  


“Um, I’m just trying to find the problem.” Mendel laughed nervously. “I mean what you’re describing, that’s just life.”  


_“Life is supposed to be beautiful”_ _  
_

“What was that? Sorry, I didn’t hear you.”  


“Do you ever think your life is meaningless, Mendel?” Marvin started again. “Do you ever think about this whole thing we do? Working like ants, every living day until our very last breath. Seeing the same people, doing the same things, all the way up till we’re 80.”  


He paused for a second, furrowing his eyebrows as if deep in thought. He thought he could feel the feeling of his years passing before him. With his skin aging, and bones weakening, until eventually he was almost nothing left at all. Nothing left, but a pile of dust.  


“Did you know the Pharaoh ant can only live up to one year maximum? I read that in a book once when I was a lot smaller. I’m not sure why, but I remembered it suddenly just now. I don’t think I would mind being a pharaoh ant. 1 year is a lot better than 80. At least then, death won't catch you by surprise.”  


“I’m sorry, I think you’ve lost me.”  


“Sometimes.” Marvin said slowly in a dangerously low voice.  “I want to destroy things. I keep having this dream, where I walk out late at night and set the whole house on fire. And, as I stand there watching it burn, I suddenly realize what I’ve done and try to put it out. But, It’s too late now, the fire’s too strong. So I just keep on standing there, watching it, until there’s nothing left. Nothing left, but me.”  


“You want to ruin things?”  


“I want to ruin myself.”  


“Why?” Mendel questioned softly.  


“Because. I think things would be so much easier if only there was nothing left.”  


“Nothing left of you? _Or nothing left, but you?_ ”  


A piercing alarm coming from Mendel’s wrist watch suddenly started to sound across the room. Marvin jumped, as the curly haired man quickly scrambled to shut it off. Once it was silent he turned back to Marvin flashing another cheesy smile.  


“We’re almost out of time.” He grinned. “Um. Let me ask you something. Do you have any friends outside of work and family?”  


“I don’t even have friends inside work and family.”  


“So that’s a no?”  


“No.”  


“N-”  


“We’re not doing this again.” Marvin impatiently interrupted.    


“Would you like me to be your friend Marvin?”  


“Not really.”  


“No?”  


“You have a way of getting on people’s nerves.” He growled.  


“Well it was worth a shot. Anywho, I ask because I think that a good friend might truly be the cure. What you’re describing, it’s not so strange. It might even be normal! You’re just a little bored is all. What you need in your life is a “special someone” to sort of.” He paused. “Mix things up!”  


“Where am I supposed to find a “special someone”?”  


“Ever have a roommate? College buddy? Removed cousin? Anyone would do, really anyone at all. Just...” He smiled. “Have a little fun.”  


“What kind of fun?”  


“I don’t know. Go fishing? Watch a movie? I’m sure you can think of something.” Mendel replied putting away his pen and paper. “It’s time for my next appointment. This woman’s sleeping with her boss it’s craz— I shouldn’t have said that. Same time next week?”  


  
Part Three  
  
Marvin sat alone in his study, staring at the electric alarm clock plugged into the wall. It read 1:22, meaning 4 hours and 8 minutes until he was supposed to wake up again. But Marvin couldn’t think about sleep, turning over instead, the events of earlier earlier that day.

  
When he had got home, Trina had been in one of her moods of replicated affection. It was possible she had felt bad for shipping Marvin to the shrink, and in order to make up for it, had decided it would be nice to play the loving wife for a change. However, it was Marvin who could never quite fit into the role of the faithful husband, and upon seeing her smile awaiting him at the door, headed straight for the study.

 

“How did it go?” She had called, quickly following after him.

  
“He said I’m perfectly normal!” He yelled back.

  
“Is that really what he said?”  


Marvin stopped outside the door, and turned quickly on his heels to look Trina in the eyes.  
  
“Why, is that a surprise to you, dear?” He said in a mocking tone.  


“Ma—”  


“It sounds to me like you have a lot of pent emotions.” He cut her off. “Maybe you should see a psychiatrist, Trina!”  


And with that he opened the door, walked inside, and quickly slammed it in her face.  


Immediately after, he pressed his ear to the side of the door, waiting for the sound of her walking away. She had stayed outside for a moment, and Marvin had thought he had heard the sound of crying. But, it died off quickly, and by now, he had supposed, she was fast asleep in their bed.  


And so he thought back to his time with the shrink.

  
Marvin could feel himself beginning to descend into a paradoxical purgatory. Whether or not there was something clinically wrong with himself, he could not decide. If he was crazy, then surely a friend could not be the only “cure”. Yet, then again, if he was normal, why would there be the need for a “cure” at all? But, the thing he found the most worrying was: if there truly was something wrong with him, what, or who would be to blame? Marvin tried to figure out the answer to these questions, but it only managed to give himself a familiar headache. He decided to focus on other things instead.  


Marvin needed a friend. Only, he had no clue as in to how, or where, he could ever find one. He had never been popular anywhere he went, and never made relationships good enough to go beyond acquaintances. He felt as if he was falling into a never-ending hole. Never in his life had he felt more completely, and utterly alone.  


It was at this moment that a name popped into Marvin’s head. A name, so far removed, he had solemnly vowed to never bring it forth again. A name, that just thinking about, held enough power to ruin him entirely.  


It was the name of a reaper from hell, the name of death, and most importantly, the name of his savior.  


Marvin scrambled quickly to his desk pulling out a piece of notebook paper, scribbling a half-legible message on it. Then, walking back over to the door, he opened it slightly, putting his finger in the crack, before slamming it back down with all his might. After releasing it, he returned to the place he had been. The finger was turning blue, and the nail had been cracked. He looked back over to the note he had written, feeling a familiar flame rise within him.  


Dear Whizzer Brown,  
  
Do you remember me?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This took me embarrassingly long, and I'm not sure if it's just me or not, but the format of this chapter seems strange (I'll try to fix it later)  
> Thank you so much for reading up to this point! I can't help but feeling this chapter is incredibly boring :/


End file.
